


A Heart Mended

by kittypox



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Lost Love, M/M, Moving On, PTSD, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 19:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7696681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittypox/pseuds/kittypox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marching forward each day with the weight of the universe on his shoulders is a debilitating weight for Shiro, at times near impossible to bear when he already flounders beneath the burden of suffocating trauma at the hands of the Galra. As the leader of a misfit crew, it’s his duty to keep everyone together, but his greatest challenge is keeping himself together.  His friends’ presence is a relief, but there’s only one who truly chases the demons away, at least temporarily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Heart Mended

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes worth mentioning.  
> 1) my very first Voltron fic, hurrah! Nice to meet y'all. 
> 
> 2) I didn't put the underage tag on this because I'm going with the belief that the rest of Team Voltron is about 18, 19, save Pidge who is probably 16. At the current events, Keith would be 19. That's just my take, guys. 
> 
> 3) This will be touching on some heavy stuff, like PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), so I put in a trigger warning for that
> 
> 4) Everything is still moving and growing, so tags will probably change

Out of necessity, there were mandatory psychology classes at the Galaxy Garrison to address the numerous debilitating, life and mission threatening situations that tended to rear their ugly heads at the most inopportune times during school, training, and missions. Pandorium, claustrophobia, homesickness; each and every cadet felt the dark pull of one or more of the demons during their schooling. If not properly tended and mended, disaster was sure to follow. Hence why their psychology courses were so high in number and students needed to maintain high scores to remain in the Garrison. Enthusiastic as one may be, if one’s psyche could not bear the terrible burden of space, then there was no place for them. Shiro had seen a number of well loved, highly skilled, and motivated cadets sent home for their failures in psychology courses and mental aptitude tests. Regrettable as it was to see them depart, he knew it was far better for them to leave than to jeopardize a mission and the lives of their fellow cadets and crew mates.

Every mental malady that their courses touched upon, Shiro had seen or experienced first hand. When he had initially realized that, when he saw firsthand _why_ they were beaten with discourse, taught coping mechanisms, drilled preventative methods until their heads spun….he was shaken. All around him, within him, there was weakness. It spoke nothing against any one of them, he knew; space was the last frontier, the final unknown, and the greatness of it, the vastness, the emptiness, the pressure that one bore was like Atlas, holding up the world. The mental weight of it all could crush them and, on occasion, it did. And when that happened, the others around needed to be prepared. 

Still, for all of the preventative measures and situation simulations, the one he had not been prepared for in the slightest was alien capture. In fact, for how far reaching and modern the Garrison’s goals and teachings…there was very little discussion of alien life. The possibility was brandied about, but hardly touched upon in classes. There was no time to discuss uncertainties when the definites were just as devastating as alien capture, he supposed, though that did not remove the bitter taste from Shiro’s mouth when he reflected upon his school days and the lack of preparation he had when the great black shadow of an alien warship had fallen over him. 

He swallowed hard, fighting back a lump that could lead to a wave of bile creeping up the back of his throat. Now was not the time. He could not afford to give himself up to bitterness, anger, or fear. Sometimes he allowed himself the weakness when he was alone, curled up in bed or standing with head bowed in the shower as water cascaded over him. But not right then. Not with the others flanking him at the dinner table, all smiles and happy banter, their gazes constantly swinging his way to gain a sliver of his interest. 

_Find a distraction_ , he instructed himself. _A happy memory or thought_. It was hardly a proper coping mechanism, but it averted possible disaster. He dredged up one of the few pleasant memories he had retained during his imprisonment and torture and turned his gaze down the table to where Keith sat, playfully egging Lance on to some foolish end. Judging by the determined yet exasperated look on the blue paladin's face, Keith's wheedling was successful. 

He chuckled, covering his mouth with a hand. 

He had missed moments like this. When he had been young and ignorant, studying or honing his skills, he had neglected his own life. Not that he truly had one. He had allowed his ambitions to dictate his life and had spent more time trying to be the best than to live his life to the fullest. It was a regret that visited him often, after his capture. Fate had given him a second chance though and he was determined to take it. Duty was important, but his friends were more important. Thinking back on his life before, he scorned his former self. All that time wasted over concern for his grades or trying to climb the way to the top of his classes. After achieving those superficial goals, what did he have to show for himself? He was still captured, reduced to slavery, and tortured and his classes hadn’t taught him a damn thing about how to cope with that. It was, he thought with no small bit of derision, a crock. 

Psychological training had been brutal and, in the end, worthless, but it hadn’t been all for naught; it had brought him to Keith.  
After his own graduation, he had been offered a temporary position at the Garrison while he continued with graduate training. At the time, he had been ecstatic and so proud of himself. He should have taken it as a bad omen right then, when he didn’t have a single person to celebrate that victory with. He was already a certified pilot, the top of his class, and with more medals of distinction than any previous cadet the Garrison had ever produced, and the higher-ups had plans for him. He was destined to do great things for the Garrison and space exploration they claimed, sweet talking his ego and desires. With a little more training, they said, he would be flying a real spaceship. It was too tempting a possibility to turn down. The simulations and mental and physical tests of graduate classes were a thousand times more difficult than any he had endured in his cadet days, but it had seemed all worth it. 

_They weren’t_. 

Even with his advanced studies, he had duties as a monitor for the Garrison. It was a simple side job that allowed him to remain with the Garrison while training without having to produce absurd sums of money for tuition or lose time and practice while he waited for a waiver from the government to allow him to remain at the school. Legal loophole, they claimed. It was a job mostly in name, but now and again he had to do actual work. 

Two years into the role, he was given Keith's name by a grim face commander who shook his head as he passed Shiro a file.

"Likely a lost cause," the commander began without preamble, "but he's talented and we'd hate to lose him."

Shiro had nodded, taking the file and quickly scanning through the contents. "What's the problem?" He asked, though the number of discipline reports gave him a fairly clear notion of what the problem might be.

"Discipline."

"A troublemaker?"

The commander snorted, as if vaguely amused."More like a trouble stopper, but a discipline problem all the same. Attacking another cadet, even when provoked, is still attacking a fellow cadet."

Shiro had nodded again, inclined to agree. No argument needed to escalate to violence. Especially not amongst fellow students. There was no shortage of reports of violence in the file; drop kicking a student, punching another, round housing. He was relieved to see that there were no threats with weapons. A picture was beginning to form of this young cadet, but when he flipped to the student intake sheet with the attached picture he paused.

"Keith Kogane." He had read.

"Very talented." The commanded mumbled.

"He doesn't look the type to cause all that trouble." He replied, staring at the dark, placid eyes of the boy's photo. 

"Looks can be deceiving. At any rate, he's close to being dismissed. You were an inspiration to your fellow cadets in your graduating class and from the classes behind you. We're hoping that you may be able to talk some sense into him. Help teach him to curb his worst habits. Whatever you have to do to keep him in check."

With his mission delivered, the commander turned and left. Despite the simple instructions, Shiro knew that this would be a greater task than they let on. He read each and every report that night in his private dorm room, poring over the details, puzzling out how to approach this young cadet. He must have stared at the boy's picture for hours, trying to reason how such a calm appearing youth could have such a savage side. 

By the time he met Keith, he already had a clear idea of what the cadet would be like. The meeting had been arranged for them by the director of student affairs and Keith's counselor, but Shiro was determined to approach as a friend first, not as mentor or lecturer. He entered the small conference room that had been reserved for them with two steaming cups of tea and a smile. 

He had expected the cold shoulder, a scowl, some sign of resentment. Instead, he walked in to find Keith slumped in a chair, looking very much like a dejected child that had been scolded. He stared at his lap, fingers twitching, mind far from there. They both knew why they were there and neither of them were all that pleased about it, Shiro guessed, clearing his throat to announce his presence. 

Keith straightened in his seat, an immediate reaction, offering respect before he even knew who it was he was dealing with---it gave Shiro hope. The boy's eyes were hard and foreboding, but they were also curious, not completely closed off. 

He offered Keith the cup of tea. 

What followed was the longest, most awkward ten seconds of Shiro's life. Keith stared at him, glanced at the cup, and then stared at him again. It seemed as if he were expecting the cup to do something. Shiro felt raw underneath the kid's scrutinizing gaze and an embarrassed flush came to his face for no reason. It should have been funny, but instead he felt humiliated.

"Would you like it?" He asked when he couldn't stand the silence. "I got it for you. It's nice and hot." He offered a soft smile to try and ease the moment.

There was no verbal reply, but Keith nodded his head slightly and reached for the cup. His hands hesitated before he took it, as if he thought the offer might be retracted. When Shiro held the cup steady, waiting for him, he took it firmly in hand and immediately took a sip. The tiniest of smiles appeared on his lips. Shiro did not miss the gesture, even with Keith's face turned away.

"Thank you."

Shiro blinked, surprised by how soft and timid the boy's voice was. "You're welcome."

He sat and took a sip of his own tea. A silence stretched between them, much more amiable than the last one. This time though it was Keith who broke it.

"Chai?" His voice had grown somewhat louder, more comfortable.

Shiro smiled at him. "Do you like it? I have a cup every morning. It helps me feel invigorated. And it sure tastes better than the bitter coffee they serve around here."

Keith made a small grunt in reply, openly staring at him. That was an action Shiro was used to; cadets stared at him all the time, usually with some form of hero worship. This stare was far more pointed, as if he were being dissected and investigated, but that did not bother Shiro. If Keith wanted to know his secrets, he would let the boy ask. 

After a few long sips, Keith cast his cup aside and sat up straight again. It was time to get down to business, Shiro saw. He opened his mouth to offer some reassurance that he was not there to judge him, merely to help, but before he could speak Keith offered his own reassurance.

"You aren't going to change me, no matter what you say to me."

Immediately, Shiro frowned. "I'm sorry that you feel that that is my goal here. I can assure you, it's not."

The boy scoffed. It was the first time in a long while that Shiro had been the object of scorn. "I know what your goal is; you're supposed to tell me to behave. I have too much potential to throw away. I need to be good and follow the rules."

"You sound as if you've heard this all before."

"I have."

The meeting was getting away from him very quickly. Shiro took a breath, choosing his words carefully, considering how best to approach. Across from him, Keith was staring hard at his face, calculating, reading into every subtle twitch of his face and movement of his body. The cadet was watching him think, trying to decipher his thoughts before he even had them.

"You are very talented." He said slowly. "And I can see that you have a lot of potential. So why all of the discipline issues? You seem too smart for trivial things like petty vengeance."

His compliment didn't get him far; in fact, it had the opposite effect he had intended. The boy's expression changed from blank to annoyed, the corners of his mouth curling downward and his eyes narrowing dangerously. No flattery, Shiro told himself, filing the mental note for later reference. 

"I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not stupid."

"I never thought that."

"You don't know what I've been through." Keith hissed, grinding his teeth together as if that might help contain some of the rage building in his slight frame. 

A ray of hope lit in Shiro as he saw an opening. He could still salvage this session. 

"You're right, I don't. All I know are the facts of the reports in your file, but I know that even those 'facts' might be misleading or inaccurate. All I have is the picture painted by this file, and that picture isn't very pretty. And it doesn't tell me everything." He watched as Keith set his jaw tightly, suspicion stark on his face. "I don't want to judge you. I want to know the whole story. I want to know why you've been in so many fights. Once I know, I can help you. They didn't ask me to speak to you as punishment; they want me to--"

"Save me."

Shiro blinked. That was an unexpected line from a cadet that seemed so solid and hardened. 

"I'm not a savior." He said softly.

"You're everyone's hero." Keith countered, voice just as soft. "If anyone can pull me out of this hole I’m in, it’s you. You hold the highest number of honors than any cadet in the history of the Garrison. Everyone wants to be like you, everyone wants to _be_ you."

"That's awfully kind--"

"If they told you to speak to me, it's because you're the last resort. If you don't get through to me, then I'm done. Aren't I?"

Shiro sighed. "I'm not going to lie to you."

"So, yes."

A silence passed between them, the awkwardness returning. They drank their tea, avoiding eye contact. He needed to bide his time, Shiro thought, fighting the instinct to forge on with this difficult conversation. Like it or not, he had presented Keith with an ultimatum: continue on as he was and be removed from the Garrison or accept the helping hand being offered and straighten up. Though it seemed an obvious choice to him, he could tell it was no easy decision for Keith.

The boy took turns sipping his tea and grimacing at the tabletop, the gears of his mind whirling in quick succession as he weighed every pro and con, surveyed any foreseeable outcome, and considered what it was he wanted. 

"You don't have to answer now." Shiro soothed. "But you'll have to make your choice soon, before another incident can occur."  
Keith grunted, still mulling over his options. 

Just as Shiro stood to leave, the boy's hand shot out, clamping over his own. For as slight a boy as he was, Keith's grip has fierce and unrelenting. Shiro wasn't sure he would have been able to pry the cadet's fingers off if he had tried. 

"You've made a decision." Shiro guessed, a serene smile on his lips as he surmised from the boy's actions what that decision was.  
His expression was not mirrored in Keith's young face; he looked miserable, as though resigning himself to a torturous fate worse than death. It made Shiro's confidence falter. What exactly, he wondered, had this young cadet gone through to cause him to form such a callous shell? 

With time, he would be able to whittle away at the boy's defenses and slip in, a friend amongst all of the foes Keith saw. He would be able to teach and guide, as he was meant to as a mentor. It would be a challenge, he knew, and despite enduring all manner of simulations and dealing with all sorts of people, there was a niggling worry in the pit of his stomach as he considered just what he could and should do, what should happen if he failed as mentor, and how likely it was that he would in fact fail. Managing a failing crew lost to space panic in the midst of a simulation was one thing...managing a teenager with real issues that weren't simulations derived to test his mettle was a brave new world. 

"Keith?"

The boy shook his head and let out a breath, sounding deeply annoyed. He fixed Shiro with a sharp, mocking look before muttering unhappily,

"Well? Are you going to save me or not?”

He had forgotten Keith had said that, Shiro mused, rubbing his aching feet after finishing his night off with a brief training session. He had advanced to level 5; it was steady progress that had pleased him. At the time they had spoken, he had found the line melodramatic and laughable--even then he could almost bring himself to laugh--if he didn't remember how cold and determined Keith had been when spitting the words out. 

Keith was no damsel or weakling; he knew his faults, but he didn’t consider them flaws to his character. They _were_ his character and he thought that just fine. If he was flawed in the eyes of others, that was their problem, not his. To have to sit before a mentor, being told that he needed to change or leave the Garrison, and then to have to ask to be saved from himself was an embarrassment that Shiro didn’t think his friend would ever live down. Still there were times he would notice Keith hesitate at his side, face grim as he recalled some distant, distasteful memory. Whenever that expression passed over his friend’s face, Shiro remembered that moment. 

That Keith had been removed from the Garrison after his disappearance had been sad news, but not completely unexpected. Even after all of their work together, there was still an attitude problem and in the wake of his disappearance, Shiro suspected that streak of independence, rebellion, and anger reappeared with vigor.

Said streak had made itself known time and again in their short time together since returning to earth. It seemed every day he was diffusing some situation between Keith and Lance, trying to keep the two hot heads from going for the other’s jugular. It wasn’t an easy task. Fortunately, the tension between the two had been changing from hostile competition to brotherly antagonizing. 

Throwing himself into bed, he felt the tension leave his muscles. His body was exhausted, but, with the quiet and solitude of the night surrounding him, his mind was suddenly alert, free to wander now that there weren’t a thousand distractions vying for his attention. No paladins, no princess, no Galra, no lions, no saving the universe—just him and his thoughts. 

It was distressing.

Always, his first thoughts were of the day: how tired he was, their successes or failures, a funny moment, a happy feeling, a crushing disappointment. Then, his thoughts degenerated from the faces of his friends and loved ones to those that he had lost. Though he hid it well, he was as obsessed as Pidge about the whereabouts of Matt and the professor. It crushed him to have to constantly turn his back on their memories for the sake of the universe, but it was, to him, a necessary act of betrayal. 

From there, the thoughts only got darker. Thoughts of his lost friends turned to thoughts of Kerberos, which turned to thoughts of the Galra, which turned to thoughts of their capture, which turned to thoughts of…darkness. There had been so much darkness. Living in it, fighting in it…thriving in it. 

_No_. Shiro screwed his eyes shut and forced away the image of his glowing Galra arm as it sliced through enemies in the gladiator arena. _Not tonight_. 

It was difficult to turn his mind away from those memories, but he knew he could do it. Being free, he had found to his astonishment, that he still knew what happiness was. He could still remember felicity and love. As a free man, he could look at the world around him and find a happy place. It was a monumental chore at times, when the darkness hit him hard, but he could do it. He had a home again. He could walk about and breathe fresh air. He had friends who loved and cherished him as he did them. When he was lost and drawing blanks on balming thoughts, he would picture the faces of his friends, his family, and the tightness in his chest would abate some. 

Rather than go round and round in his head, sniffing out some forgotten treasured memory, he began to think of his friends. A small smile touched his lips. Pidge had been funny that day, playing with all her gadgets and rambling incessantly about some new toy she had made. That afternoon, Coran had made them a surprisingly delicious lunch which he had sent the entire morning crafting. As he had finished his evening training, he had spotted Keith and Lance walking to the common room, arguing loudly over some ingenious plan Lance claimed to have. Lance always had some plan in his head, Shiro had learned. Those in and of themselves usually made him smile with how ludicrous they were. 

His mind was sinking into slumber. He could feel his thoughts growing weak, drifting here and there in careless waves. The last thing he remembered the following day was thinking of his family, his friends, of Keith—as he did almost every night.


End file.
